


pitch black, pale blue

by fideliter



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Choking Kink, Other, POV Second Person, ambiguous deputy, deputy as reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 14:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14334438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fideliter/pseuds/fideliter
Summary: In which John doesn'tonlymark people with knives and ink and the Deputy is super into it.





	pitch black, pale blue

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Neptune" by Sleeping At Last.

He's already marked you.

Your sins, etched into flesh, laid bare for the world to see. _Wrath_ across your stomach, the side of your neck, across your shoulder blades. _Pride_ carved into your forearm and chest. The others, too, are there to see if one looks close enough. Not all are named but most are scars still, written by bullets and shrapnel rather than a Seed brothers knife.

The very same brother who’s _caught you._  
  
 _“I won't stop marking you,”_ he murmurs, voice low like a purr, lips just brushing against the shell of your ear. His hands linger on your bare waist, head tilted up as you straddle him. _“Until everyone knows you're **mine**.”_

Atonement comes and goes, but John will not let you rest.

You've confessed for him - on your knees, across his lap, on nearly every surface of his sprawling ranch. Yet he doesn't seem satisfied. And maybe, with the way you push and rebel, he'll never be satisfied. Still, it’s fun to poke and prod at that hair-pin temper, always curious to see what you can get away with.

And this time, you can pinpoint the exact moment you stepped over the line.

Blue eyes narrow sharply, brows furrowing thickly. It's nothing like the look he'd worn before, a playful edge to the danger; now, he's shed all softness, any hint of affection. And in its wake, he looks more like one of his brother's wolf - all sharp teeth and growls.

Your thighs clench where they’re wrapped around his waist, because you know what that look means.

This was what you were waiting for.

This is what you'll finally say _yes_ to.

_"Shut up,"_ he snaps, inked hand reaching forward and _grabbing_ the column of your throat. A startled gasp barely makes it past your lips before he squeezes, rocking his hips up at the same time. His grip is tight and inflexible, the smooth glide of his cock against your inner thighs a delicious friction. He shifts, using his grip to help angle you and slides home – a wheeze hissing between your teeth.

He is not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. There’s something wild in his eyes, _manic_ ; it’s vicious but still so _him_. So you don’t fear the fingers around you throat, instead leaning into them, bouncing on his lap like a good sinner. Maybe he sees the way your eyelids flutter, the way your jaw goes slack with pleasure, because he tightens pressure for just a moment and angles his hips on the next thrust – and the pleasure dips that much closer to the sharp edge of _pain_.

Yes, _yes_ , **_yes_**.

He snaps his hips upwards at a punishing pace as he alternates the pressure on your throat, fucking you with little grace. You help out as much as you can, rocking your hips to meet his own, hand wrapped around his wrist. Holding onto him, keeping him close - as if he’ll let you go now.  
  
He doesn’t last long, and you don’t want him to; you come just like that, held tightly in place as you whimper yes. He follows you but doesn’t let go of his grip until his breathing evens out. There are bruises across the column of your throat and just above your hip and you grin, shakily, as you press your forehead against his.  
  
 _Mine_ , those marks say - and you’ll wear them gladly.


End file.
